
EATERAZ recently caught up with former 944 Phoenix Magazine Editor Laurel May, to chat about her plans for a chef tell-all book.
EAZ: So you’re working on a book?
Laurel May: Yep. Well, it started out as a joke, among family and friends or whatever. I sat through a million super pretentious four-hour meals bored out of my skull, or I’d walk into the kitchen of the restaurants my husband worked at or ran, and find some skank shaking her junk all over the pass and I would always threaten to write a book and call it Epifurious. It has been a long time coming.
EAZ: So you’re bitter?
LM: No. Well, maybe a little. It’s more of a public service announcement – I know there’s tons of women that think it would be a dream come true to be married to a chef. The reality is, that it can be an incredibly unpleasant and trying experience. You’ve got to plan on spending every holiday alone, you’ve got to be able to deal with the chef groupies, you have to be friendly with the horny hostess, you’ve got to eat turtle penis or whatever else comes down the pike with a smile on your face. You have to CHEW it.
EAZ: So is the book strictly based on your own experience?
LM: Nope. I live in San Francisco now, and I meet loads and loads of chefs and people who are involved with them personally. I have a friend here in SF who’s been through a similar experience – the wringer, basically. She’s also the ex-wife of a prominent Valley chef, I’m not going to out her but we’re collaborating.
EAZ: Will you name names?
LM: I’m definitely going to sling some hash, if you catch my drift. Being a chef is sort of like being in a fraternity. There’s a ton of pretty sordid monkey business going on — drugs, infidelity, general naughty behavior. I won’t be naming names, but the stories are definitely true. It will be a page turner, I promise.
EAZ: Surely there must have been some upside to being married to a chef interesting people and dinner parties, incredible food and wine, your own personal chef, etc…?
LM: Of course. To roll into the best restaurants in places like Barcelona (Spain, not Scottsdale) or NYC and not have to wait for a table, to not even see a menu and to be treated like royalty, it’s fabulous. My palate’s definitely been refined, I know bullshit food when I taste it now, it’s a glamorous life. I can tell you though, that there’s no damn breakfast in bed! It’s nice to be along for the ride, but in the end – nobody cares what you think. You’re just the “chef’s wife.”
EAZ: Do bad boys become chefs, or are all chefs bad boys?
LM: Well, I’m not sure but there are more chefs in prison than any other profession. You do the math.